


Open up your heart

by virosodi



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virosodi/pseuds/virosodi
Summary: Connor sings to plants and Hank has a soft heart.





	Open up your heart

**Author's Note:**

> i sometimes sing to my flowers, usually while tending them or cleaning my room, so one time i imagined connor singing to plants at 7 in the morning in hank’s living room and it made me emotional so here it is. i picked this song because i love it so so so much, it makes me feel soft inside. also, i went for this nostalgic/melancholic/soft vibe but idk what this is tbh. extremely sappy is what it is lmao.

 

* * *

 

Ever since Connor moved in, Hank’s reality has altered. There are fresh fruits on his kitchen table now, Cole’s picture in the living room, tucked between two potted plants Connor made him buy on their way to the station. There are records and CDs stacked next to the stereo, a jar for Sumo’s treats in the cupboard, extra blanket on the couch, Hank’s old DPD sweatshirt hung over the armchair. There are soft kisses, warm fingers, mown grass outside of his window and jazz playing, and Hank got used to those things, over time.

So when he wakes up one Saturday morning, sun shining on his face, summer breeze gusting in, and hears music coming from the living room, Hank doesn’t think much of it. He closes his eyes, determined to fall asleep again, but the song sounds awfully familiar and there are two voices now, soft and sincere, and it’s _Connor_. Connor is singing his sweet duet with Frank Sinatra at seven in the morning and Hank must be dreaming.

He must be, because the CD that’s playing is in one of the boxes cluttering his attic, buried under every other thing it hurt to look at. He must be, because Hank shoved it there _himself_ , all those years ago, when Cole’s picture used to face the table and the gun never left his side.

But he hears it now, loud and clear, calling out to him like a long-lost memory. It draws him out of the bedroom, even though it’s too early for him to stand and there’s no case to stew over first thing in the morning. He stops in the threshold and stares at the image in front of him, hand clasped on the handle.

Connor is sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by plants Hank didn’t even know they owned, wearing shorts and one of Hank’s old t-shirts covered in washed-out prints. He sways a little to the tune flowing through the stereo, his head bowed, eyes twinkling while he croons the lyrics, holding pink petals between his fingers. Morning light breaks through the blinds, streaming over his face, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, wind dancing in his hair. Sumo is bathing in the sun next to him, tail on Connor’s thighs, and it’s soft, so soft, Hank’s heart aches.

Connor looks like a painting, a dream Hank’s not supposed to be in, a fairytale or a myth, too beautiful to be true. But he’s here, in the middle of their living room, singing love songs to flowers of all the things he could be doing on a Saturday morning.

Hank’s grip on the handle slips.

“What are you doing?” he grumbles at last, because having good things happen to you in life, doesn’t mean knowing what to do with them.

Connor stops singing and looks at him, letting go of the petals. He lays his hand flat on the floor and turns to Hank, a ghost of a smile still on his lips, LED calm blue.

“I’m singing.”

It’s so sincere, Hank almost stammers. “Yeah, I heard. Why?”

“Old studies show that music has a positive effect on plants. It helps them grow,” Connor explains, still looking up at him, Sumo’s tail wiggling on his lap, and _God help him_ , if that doesn’t melt Hank’s sappy heart right away.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he manages.

“I don’t sleep, Hank,” Connor says, probably for the hundredth time, still sweet and gentle, and Hank can’t stop himself from groaning. He doesn’t know what to do, so he stalks to the kitchen to pour himself some water in a poor attempt at escaping Connor’s eyes.

He hears Connor shift behind him. Another song comes on and Hank’s stomach lurches.

“I’m sorry,” Connor smiles like he’s not sorry at all, “for waking you up. I can stop if it bothers you.”

Hank turns around, glass clutched in his hand, and leans against the counter, actually stuttering. “Bothers me— no, it’s— it doesn’t bother me.”

“Good,” Connor smiles again, brighter than the sun shining on his face, and looks back at the flowers. He runs his hand through the leaves, gentle and slow.

Hank muses at the sight, follows the trace of Connor’s fingers and sighs, slumping further onto the counter. The knot in his stomach loosens a little bit.

“God, that song is, what, almost hundred years old? Couldn’t pick something more up to date?”

Connor looks at him, eyes twinkling, and says, “You’re not the only one fond of older things.”

Hank nearly chokes on his water.

“Connor—“

But then Sinatra starts singing and Connor picks up at once, standing in one swift motion, shutting Hank up. He starts walking toward him with a sway in his step, eyes locked on Hank’s face, song on his lips, and Hank digs his back harder into the counter.

 

_Fools rush in_

_where angels fear to tread._

_And so I come to you, my love,_

_my heart above my head._

 

Connor singing in front of him, with his eyes half-lidded, face blissfully calm, wearing a worn-out Knights t-shirt, is the most beautiful thing Hank has ever seen. And he can’t hide it, his cheeks flush, heartrate spikes so high, it must be flashing across Connor’s vision, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He kisses Hank’s nose, takes his hand, guiding him to the living room and Hank, utterly and completely _struck_  — follows close behind, legs giving out. He takes Connor in his arms near the stereo, next to stacks of outdated files and Sumo’s scattered toys, and Connor rests his head on Hank’s shoulder, swaying to the melody, hands on the small of his back. Connor’s eyes are closed, but he doesn’t stop singing, and it’s the softest of sounds, so sweet and sincere, Hank’s breath hitches, heart stammers in his chest.

Connor raises his head to look him in the eyes when the last verse starts, and Hank’s vision blurs, lips part like he tries to say something, anything, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, weak and shaky. He lifts his hand to cup Connor’s cheek, thumb smoothing over his skin, and Connor leans into the touch, his lips only a breath away.

 

_When we met,_

_I felt my life begin._

_So open up your heart and let_

_this fool rush in._

 

That does it for him, Connor’s eyes full of love and bliss, soft waver of his voice that nearly sends Hank to the floor, hands sinking lower, Connor's timid smile and his collarbone, slipping from under the hem of his t-shirt when he shifts in Hank’s arms.

Connor looks at him like he hung up the stars, and Hank kisses him.

It’s quiet and tender, a soft caress, and Connor sighs into his lips, eyes closed, hand shifting to sink into Hank’s hair while he presses closer. Hank takes his hand, entwining their fingers, and holds him tighter, feels how Connor’s skin peels away under the touch, unveiling smooth, marble-like framework, glittering in the sun.

Connor hides his face in the crook of Hank’s neck and breathes.

Together, they sway to the melody, lips curling into a smile, Hank’s heart full, and it doesn't ache. It doesn’t hurt anymore, he realizes with Connor in his arms, to hold something dear.

The song ends like it started, a dream yielding to reality, and they stay like this a little while longer.

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! im not a native english speaker so if i butchered sth, i’m very sorry. also you can find me on my tumblr sideblog [@gvynbleidd](http://gvynbleidd.tumblr.com/) <3


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